The Bar Mitzvah He Never Had: A Friendship Across Two Balconies

Across the street from the yeshiva where I study stands an upscale assisted-living residence. Whenever I step onto the yeshiva balcony to get a little fresh air, I find myself looking over at the building, if only because there is not much else to look at.

One day, during my usual break from learning, I stepped outside for some air and sunshine and noticed an older man wearing a flat cap sitting on one of the balconies across the street. I had the feeling he was looking at me. I glanced back at him, then returned inside.

After that, something interesting began to happen. Almost every time I stepped onto the balcony, he was there too. Morning, afternoon, or evening, he rarely let me down.

Eventually, I started looking for him. And it seemed that he was looking for me too.

One day, I decided it was time to start a conversation. We practically knew each other by then, right?

“Hello! How are you?” I called across the street, waving. I had no idea how good his hearing was.

He smiled, waved back, and answered, “Good.”

“Beautiful weather,” I said.

Of all the conversation starters I could have chosen, that was apparently the best I could come up with.

He nodded and laughed.

Friendly guy, I thought.

I waved goodbye and went back inside. But from then on, whenever I stepped outside and saw him, we exchanged a few words.

One day, my friend Ruby was standing beside me during one of these balcony conversations.

“Why are you shouting from balcony to balcony?” he asked. “Just go visit him.”

I liked the idea.

“Maybe you’ll come with me?” I asked. I did not feel entirely comfortable going alone.

He agreed, and the two of us headed across the street.

There was just one small problem: We had no idea how to find the man’s apartment. We did not even know his name.

What exactly had we been thinking? I still do not know.

The security guard at the entrance could not understand these two yeshiva students who knew which floor they wanted to visit but had absolutely no idea whom they were visiting. Unsurprisingly, he refused to let us in.

Rightly so, I have to admit.

We decided that the next time we saw our balcony friend, we would ask his name and politely ask whether we could visit.

On the way back to the yeshiva, Ruby took the idea a step further.

“Maybe we can bring Shimon and Eli to play some guitar and harmonica and create a little atmosphere,” he suggested. “As far as I’m concerned, we can bring some joy to his whole wing.”

“Great idea!” I said, hoping Eli and Shimon would be interested.

They absolutely were.

From Balcony Conversations to Friday Visits

The very next day, I stepped onto the balcony and, as usual, saw him sitting across from me.

It was Friday morning, so I suggested that a few friends and I come over to sing some nigunim in honor of Shabbat.

He loved the idea. He even began singing something that sounded like “Hava Nagila” across the balconies.

This time, I remembered to ask the important questions: his name and room number.

His name was Yehuda Benvenisti.

I promised we would visit within the next two hours. He looked genuinely happy, as though he had been waiting for an invitation like this.

And so, not long afterward, the four of us found ourselves standing in front of the same security guard we had met the day before.

“Yehuda Benvenisti,” we told him proudly this time.

He checked the records, made a few calls, and finally opened the door.

We entered the large, beautifully designed lobby and headed straight to Yehuda’s room.

He was delighted to see us. We shook hands, sat down, and began talking, finally exchanging stories without having to shout them across the street.

Yehuda told us that he enjoyed listening to the sounds coming from the yeshiva.

“Especially the shouting from the learning. It is very interesting,” he said with a smile.

His speech still reflected his South American background, and we quickly discovered that he was a wonderful conversationalist. When we started singing, we discovered something else: Yehuda was very musical.

He even knew many Hasidic songs, particularly the more popular ones.

Before long, several other residents who heard the music joined us. The room filled with singing and joy.

We could not help noticing Yehuda’s beret and the tzitzit peeking out from beneath his shirt, as well as the kippot and tzitzit worn by some of the other residents who joined us. We felt completely comfortable. Between songs, we shared Torah thoughts and told stories from the Midrash.

Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves because, before we left, they asked us to come back.

So we did.

Friday after Friday, we returned.

Every so often, I also visited Yehuda alone during the week. I discovered a sharp-minded man with a fascinating ability to analyze almost any subject, from finance to politics.

I enjoyed every visit and was never bored for a moment.

My family began hearing more and more about Yehuda because whenever I came home, I would tell them about his observations, his analyses, and the advice he had given me.

Without either of us planning it, Yehuda had become something of a grandfather figure to me.

The Bar Mitzvah Invitation That Revealed a Secret

Time passed, and my family began preparing for my younger brother’s bar mitzvah.

We decided that his aliyah laTorah would take place at my grandfather’s synagogue, which happened to be near my yeshiva.

Immediately, I thought of Yehuda.

Maybe I should invite him?

It turned out that my parents had already had the same idea.

“We wanted to suggest it to you,” my mother said when I brought it up. “It would be so nice if he came. It should be easy for him too, since the synagogue is nearby, and his presence would honor us greatly. Dad would be happy to meet him too.”

I loved the idea.

I was already imagining the entire aliyah laTorah, with Yehuda wrapped in a tallit alongside the congregation.

I brought an invitation back to the yeshiva, wrote a personal dedication inside, and planned to give it to Yehuda at the first opportunity.

That opportunity came quickly.

But his reaction surprised me.

Yehuda was touched that we had thought of him, but his attention seemed focused mainly on the location of the hall where the bar mitzvah celebration would take place.

I pointed out that the aliyah laTorah would be held very close to his residence and encouraged him to come.

He looked at me, confused.

I was confused too.

“What do you mean, aliyah laTorah?” he asked.

If I had not known Yehuda, I might have wondered whether his memory was beginning to fail him. But he was as focused and sharp as ever. He was completely serious.

“An aliyah laTorah,” I explained. “When someone is called up to the Torah in synagogue for his bar mitzvah.”

He still did not seem to understand.

“Tell me about it,” he said with interest.

“You don’t know that a bar mitzvah boy is called up to the Torah?” I asked, completely amazed.

“No,” he answered.

I explained the tradition, still trying to understand what was happening.

Yehuda wore tzitzit. He wore a kippah. How could he not know about an aliyah laTorah?

He did not leave me wondering for long.

“I never had a bar mitzvah,” he told me.

“I Never Had a Bar Mitzvah”

“I was born into a Jewish family in South America,” Yehuda explained. “Everyone called me ‘Huda,’ but I knew my Jewish name was Yehuda, and that is the name I returned to when I moved to Israel.

“My parents were not religious. They were actually very far from religion. But I was an enthusiastic Zionist, and that is what made me leave everything there and come to Israel.

“Only here did I first learn about real Judaism. I was always a person of faith. I was not against observing mitzvot, but I was not really searching for answers to my questions, so I continued living the lifestyle I knew.

“It was actually when I came here, to assisted living, that I met several good friends who wore kippot. Through them, I learned about Shabbat and mitzvot, and thanks to them, I began wearing tzitzit and a kippah.

“I discovered how great Hashem is.

“Since then, I have been learning all the time and attending Torah classes here whenever I can. But I have gaps in my knowledge, and every time I discover just how deep those gaps are. Like now, for example.

“I didn’t know anything about a bar mitzvah. I thought it was only a milestone when a boy becomes obligated in the mitzvot. I didn’t realize there was anything more to it.”

“We have to celebrate a bar mitzvah for you,” I told him immediately. “We’ll arrange an aliyah laTorah for you.”

Then another thought occurred to me.

“What about tefillin?”

He smiled.

“I already have that.”

He showed me a tefillin case embroidered with his name.

“I put on tefillin every day. I learned how from the rabbi who comes here every morning to help anyone who needs it.”

I was deeply moved.

Here was a holy Jew filled with a burning desire for faith. He had discovered Judaism later in life, and all he wanted was to come closer to Hashem. Then something as simple as a bar mitzvah invitation revealed that there was one experience he had never had: an aliyah laTorah.

And now, he wanted one.

A Bar Mitzvah Decades in the Making

I immediately called my grandfather and asked him to arrange an aliyah laTorah for Yehuda at the nearby synagogue that coming Shabbat.

All that remained was for me to teach Yehuda the blessings, explain everything he needed to know, and, of course, bring all the guys along to make it a real celebration.

There would have to be singing.

And candy.

This was going to be the happiest aliyah laTorah ever.

I was not wrong.

All of us, every one of his young friends, escorted Yehuda in a joyful procession from his assisted-living residence to the synagogue and back. Quite a few of his friends from the residence joined us as well.

We sang to him along the way, just as people sing for every bar mitzvah boy.

At the synagogue, we threw candy, sang, and created the kind of joyful atmosphere that a group of young yeshiva students knows how to create.

Yehuda was thrilled.

After all those years, he finally celebrated his bar mitzvah.

Sometimes, it is wonderful to go back to being 13.

Just ask Yehuda.